


Punishment

by Pretty_Little_MockingBird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Punishment, rule of thumb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pretty_Little_MockingBird/pseuds/Pretty_Little_MockingBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is late to work, whatever will her boss do to her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at smut, hope you enjoy.

She rushed to her desk as fast as her restrictive pencil skirt and 4 inch heels would allow. Glancing at the clock she winced, realizing that despite her best efforts she was 5 minutes late... again. Maybe he wouldn't notice, maybe he was busy with some email or paper work and just would assume she arrived on time.

She checked herself in her compact as her computer started up. The rain had taken its toll; her long auburn red hair was soaked and hung heavy and flat, looking almost brown. The loss of volume made it look longer than it normally did, and she teased it as best she could with her fingers to aid its drying. 

Her make up wasn't too bad. The mascara she used to frame her deep blue eyes needed touching up, as did her red lipstick. But all in all she looked incredibly well put together for the morning she had had. Leaving her apartment, the 20 year old recent college graduate, lost her umbrella to a gust of wind, only to approach her bus stop to see her bus pulling away.

The shelter at the stop hadn't provided much by way of protection as she waited for the next bus to take her downtown to her first "real" job, being an administrative assistant to well known secretary of money, Petyr Baelish. She wasn't particularly knowledgeable about finance or economics , but her degree in French literature left her few options. So her all knowing father, Vice pride ident Ned Stark, gave her the job of pretty much being what ever Mr. Baelish wanted. 

She was, however, very articulate, very organized, capable of producing professional correspondence, and her facility with French aided her boss with an occasional international dealing. And she needed the money. With graduation came the new experience of rent, utilities, food, transportation, and the ever looming student loan repayments, which her family so nicely reminded her, was all her responsibility.The ability to read and interpret Proust wasn't going to put a roof over her head. 

Her computer finished loading, her hair and clothes slowly drying, she began her first task of the day and breathed a sigh of relief at her tardiness having gone unnoticed. It was a full half an hour later when the door behind her suddenly opened and her she heard her boss's steely voice, "Ms. Stark, would you please step into my office."

She stood and took a deep breath causing her chest to swell against the buttons of her white blouse. Pressing her palms against her thighs, she pressed out any wrinkles in her skirt before taking hold of a legal pad and pen and turning to walk into his office.

"Shut the door, please," he said as she entered the well decorated room. Her heart skipped a beat. Had he noticed she was late after all or was this something else? She moistened her lips with her tongue as she closed the door and turned back towards him. 

"You were late again," the words were cold, matter of fact. His grey-green stare cut into her and she lowered her chin to her chest and bit her lower lip.

"Yes Sir," she said softly before breaking into a litany of excuses, "but with the rain, I missed the bus, and then my umbrella..." She chirped away-

"What happens when my assistant is late?" he cut her off, uninterested in her excuses which he had heard far too many times in the short period she had worked for him.

Her head bowed, her voice small, she replied barely audibly, "She gets punished, Sir."

"And when she makes excuses...?" He asked expecting her to finish the sentence.

Obediently, and with little pause she almost whispered, "The punishment is worse."

He stood and walked around to where she stood. His height and strength towering over her small frame. Leaning down to her, he put his mouth next to her ear and she could feel the warmth and the smell of mint of his breath on her neck as he said, "Raise your skirt and bend over the desk, Ms. Stark."

The game begins

As she wiggled her hips, raising her skirt to reveal that she wore no panties over her round ass and smooth and hairless mound, images from her first night with Mr. Baelish flooded into her memory. She hated that she was already moist as she moved to lean over the desk, gripping the near edge of the heavy metallic border that framed the modern piece of furniture.

She was sheepishly leaning over, waiting for Mr. Baelish to act or instruct further. Her head bowed, long red tendrils of hair falling forward and hiding the rising flush in her cheeks. She remember how he smiled at her when they met at her fathers party she remembered how serious his eyes were, and how her heart skipped a beat as she felt compelled to return a shy smile of her own.

Mr. Baelish went to his metallic locker and opened it. He pulled out a riding crop and sliced it through the air. She winced as a whistling sound filled her ears, remembering days past with its sting so masterfully guided all over her back side. 

Next a deep thud filled the room. That was the wooden paddle. If he was gentle, it wouldn't be so bad, but she knew better than to hope for such a thing during punishment.

"Ahh, here we are," he said, retrieving some unseen instrument from the cabinet. The sound was unfamiliar, like the crop, but not as strong. She turned her head slightly to see Mr. Baelish brandishing a flogger, black, with enough strands that she couldn't count them.

Her eyes narrowed in curiosity as strands of hair fell across her face, she hadn't experienced that particular toy before. Was it new? Or was it special? The thought made her shudder because special meant especially punishing. She knew all she need to do was use the safe word and he'd go back to being gentle and lavash her with attention, but in all honesty, she was curious and excited by the new toy.

He walked back to her and looked her over. He admired how well she had been trained so far. How the first transgression at work had been met with much resistance and a constant chattering and begging from her. He had told her when he offered her the position what it entailed, but at that moment the two of them had been lying in bed together and the most "punishment" she had yet experienced was a simple bare handed spanking from him as foreplay. He had tried to make things seriously clear what he demanded, but in her youthful optimism, she hadn't imagined exactly how deep her submission would go. She was his and he'd make her understand what that meant.

He shook his head as he looked over her sloppy form. "You know better than this, Ms. Stark, spread your legs and arch your back." As she wiggled her feet into a wider stance and arched to present her ass more readily, he added, "You're being lazy today. I suspect though, after today, you will remember to be more conscientious for a while."

He brought the flogger down hard on the white flesh of her ass and red stripes immediately began to form. She gripped the edge of the desk hard and sucked in air through clenched teeth, but she did not cry out.

Again the leather strands struck her ass, and this time she let out a very short grunt, closing her eyes and riding through the pain as though she were a surfer on a wave. It spread through her body like warm liquid, up her spine and to her scalp making the follicles of her hair tingle.

In rapid succession three more swats with the implement, met first by her grunts and but the last elicited an actual high pitched cry. Her flesh was burning now, it glowed red and warm, and her body tingled from head to toe. The pain in her ass made her thighs shake as she strained to keep her feet in proper position.

At her cry he taunted her, "Do I need to get the gag? I can't have you screaming out like a hysterical child in the midst of a tantrum. If you can't keep yourself quiet, I can find a way to make that happen."

"No, sir," she panted, " I can take my punishment like a big girl."

Her words made him smirk in self-satisfaction at how far he had brought her into this new role as his secretary and submissive. The first time he flogged her she had to be gagged almost immediately, and even though he was relatively gentle, by the end her face had been a mess of tears to accompany her silent squeals at the touch of the lash. Still, punishment is meant to be difficult to take, so when he brought the flogger down again, it was with a skill that made the leather talons bite hard into her soft flesh.

She squealed at the new pain and her ass shook up and down as she bit her lip, her whole body tense with the shock of the blow. But far more terrible than the blow, more terrible than the welts and small abrasions it produced was how, even as she cried out, she could feel her young cunt gush with moisture.

"What kind of person am I?" She thought to herself. She hoped he wouldn't notice, but somehow he always did. It wasn't enough that she was his to control and correct, he had to make it known how much she enjoyed it. This was not the image of the strong, confident, young woman her parents had raised her to be. She was a submissive slut, and what she craved most, was the discipline of Mr. Baelish.

The flogger stung her already sensitive flesh again and she whimpered as she fell forward against the desk, her legs shaking from the harsh sting in her ass. She managed to keep them spread; however, just as he had instructed, and in her new position, open and slightly up turned, he saw how wet she was.

He walked behind her and ran a solitary finger up her inner thigh, collecting the moisture of her drooling cunt on its tip. He never actually entered her; he didn't have to. She was so wet at this point, the dampness on her thighs was enough to make his point.

She felt his finger and closed her eyes. Despite her deep embarrassment at being so wet, she wanted nothing more than his touch with her folds of flesh. Hadn't she been good enough to deserve that? Even for a moment?

But no, before reaching its source, he pulled his finger from between her thighs and then maneuvered to hold it under her nose. "It seems that more than the rain is making you wet, Ms. Stark, because that is not water, is it?"

In a soft, almost disappearing voice, she whispered, "No sir." He cheeks flushed as red as her abused ass when she spoke.

"What is it, Ms. Stark, can you identify it for me?"

She hesitated, too embarrassed to speak, and not sure what she should say if she did. But hesitation would only make things worse.

"No?" he asked sarcastically, "Perhaps you should taste it then." And he shoved his already dampened finger into her mouth. True to her nature, she eagerly accepted it, sucking it hard and cleaning it with her tongue. 

When he removed it he asked, "Well Ms. Stark, what is it?"

She mumbled something so low in response that no one could have heard her. The lack of clear answer earned her another lash with the leather.

She whimpered and cried and writhed at the new sting, and over all her commotion he growled, "I asked you a question, Ms. Stark" And then, punctuating each word with another touch of the leather, he asked again, "What. is. That. Liquid?"

She cried and writhed and shouted in tormented, embarrassment, "My juices! My pussy juices! Oh God Sir. Please!"

"And why," he spoke coolly as she calmed down, "would your pussy juices be on your thigh? Are you turned on right now?" He asked with mock surprise.

"Yes sir," She whimpered, "Oh yes sir, I'm on fire."

"My goodness, Ms. Stark," he mocked, "You must be quite the slut."

His words stung a bit, but they stung like the lash, a tinge of pain followed by a rush of excitement and desire. She moaned her dismay (or was it her approval?) but she moaned like a whore when without warning or prelude, she felt two fingers probe her wet cunt in search of her clit.

"Ms. Stark," he began as he stood behind her, working his able fingers in circles over her most sensitive flesh, "you are embarrassingly wet." She writhed and pushed back against his touch. "And your clit is intensely swollen. Were you going to cum from being flogged?"

"No sir!" she gasped as she tried to protect a shred of her decency, but her quick response only made public her lack of confidence in the answer.

"Oh," he tormented, fingers probing inside her, "so you weren't even close to cumming? Well then you shouldn't have any trouble NOT cumming now."

It was his rule, common enough, but a rule so insidious and controlling. She wasn't allowed to cum without his permission. No matter how hard he pushed her, no matter what his fingers did, no matter how good it felt to have him finally rub her aching clit.

If she broke the rule, as she had the first time he introduced it, that meant only one thing: the cane. And as much as her clit ached with the delightful burn of the flogger, the thought of her first experience with the cane and the way its sharp sting cut into her soft flesh made her mind flash red with its image. She had made the mistake of not controlling herself once, and she had regretted it.

But he wasn't making it easy to obey. Expertly his fingers ran circles over her aching clit. The sound of her sloppy wetness was broken only by her occasional moan. Her thighs tensed, and she breathed deep and steady, trying hard to keep control.

"You see, sweetling," he said, "I suspect that you are big enough of a slut that just being bitten with the leather would have gotten you off. Sure you don't want to change your mind about that?"

She whimpered as much at his insinuation as his touch, but she just couldn't admit that being flogged alone was enough. "I'm not that big a slut," She protested even as she stuttered and cooed. Bent over her boss's desk, skirt hiked up over her waist, her boss's fingers inside her.

"Oh no?" He mocked. "You think lots of secretaries find themselves in this position? My goodness, I didn't even have to tie you down, you offered your ass up to me like a common whore."

Her entire body shivered at his word, her legs began to shake violently as she fought off the building orgasm, but she knew she was losing, a meeting with the cane growing ever closer.

"Please," she whimpered, "I can't... please..."

"Please?" he teased, rubbing her clit harder.

Breathlessly she babbled, "Please sir... permission... don't make...me disobey... oh please Sir."

She grunted as she gritted her teeth trying to fight off the coming explosion. It felt so good. It would be so good to let go. Maybe even worth the cane? No, not worth the cane. But maybe...

He gripped her hair with his free hand and pulled it back tight, stretching her neck and arching her back. Growling in her ear he chastised her, "I am not making you disobey. If you cum, then it is your fault alone for being a weak-willed little slut. Understood?"

She whimpered, tears in her eyes as she felt herself slipping, not knowing what else to say. His hand in her hair had momentarily allowed her a respite from focus on her throbbing clit, but now, the added stimulation was too much, she was on the verge of disobeying.

Suddenly she cried out, "NNnnnnooooo!" but it was too late, her cunt spasmed and her legs quivered and her entire body went into convulsions against his hand as the power of the orgasm she had been holding back washed over her. 

She whimpered and cried as tears flooded her eyes, the delicious feeling of release tempered by the knowledge that disobedience is always punished. Still, determined to get every last ounce of pleasure, she ground back against his hand like a whore as the sound of her tormented joy flooded his ears.

For his part, as soon as he felt her release, he merely held his hand still against her, her bucking hips doing all the work of getting her over and through her ecstasy. He suppressed a smug smile as he watched her give in to the pleasure of his touch despite herself. 

Letting go of her hair, her head fell forward, cheek pressed against the cool material of his desk, eyes closed, panting and mewling as her hips still ground out the last of her orgasm. She had expected him to pull his hand away as soon as she was done, but he hadn't and the involuntary rotation of her hips saw a new wave of pleasure rising over her. More quickly this time as she didn't fight against it, and instead eagerly pursued it.

Like a hard wave the second orgasm hit her and she cried out into the room "Ffffuucckkk," as it crashed over her lithe body. Her pussy having soaked his hand and wet her own thighs, she wasn't thinking of the permission she lacked. Instead she was thinking only of how delicious it was to cum, how no one had ever made her cum quite like he had. Her face contorted as sigh and gasp and moan escaped her red lips. And through it all, he neither moved, nor said anything.

When she began to settle with only the occasional twitch from her hips to push herself back on his hand, he removed his touch. He pulled an expensive silk handkerchief out of his pocket andused it to wipe off the juices that had drenched his hand. 

Suddenly feeling very exposed and aware of her transgressions, her eyes darted open and she guiltily fixed on him without moving from her position bent over the desk, cheek pressed against it. She saw that he was shaking his head disapprovingly.

"Ms. Stark," he began evenly, "you have proven that you are a weak-willed little slut. And I cannot abide weak-willed little sluts."

She raised her head slightly off the desk, "But Sir, you..."

In an instant his hand had forced her head back down against the desk, the hard material slapping into her cheek and cutting off her speech.

"I think," he said with an edge of hostility, his hand pushing her cheek into the desk, "I think it is best if you stop speaking."

He brought the handkerchief he had used to wipe his hands to her mouth. It was thick with her scent which flooded her nostrils. When he simply said, "Open," she did not hesitate to obey, at which point he shoved the soaked rag into her mouth.

She whimpered into the cloth and her eyes moistened. She knew she was in trouble, and she dared not move even when he finally removed his hand from the side of her head.

She watched as he moved away from her to his closet where he kept all of his implements. The sound of his shoes moving in slow purposeful steps filled her ears. A chill ran over her entire body. She thought about running away, quitting, and never coming back. He had told her she was free to do that at any point. But if she did, she couldn't be his anymore, and more than anything she wanted to be his.

As he took his time inventorying the closet, he laid out her transgressions. "So, Ms. Stark, after being late this morning, you disobey me while being punished and let yourself cum not once, but twice." Looking over his shoulder at her bent form and fearful eyes, "And then you tried to blame me for your failure." 

Unable to speak, by instinct she shook her head "No," with pleading eyes. She should have known better.

Immediately he said, "Still correcting me? Still thinking you know best?" He turned back to the closet shaking his head in disappointment.

"Have you ever heard of the phrase," he began again, seemingly ignoring her latest transgression, "'rule of thumb' Ms. Stark? Do you know its origins?"

Unable to speak, she did not respond, but when he turned back toward her with what appeared to be a long thin stick her eyes went wide with fear of what she already knew was coming.

"You see, Ms. Stark," for effect, he slashed the cane through the air a few times, making the room fill with the high pitch sound. "In less advanced times simply being married gave a man permission to discipline his wife. But," he continued as he closed the space between them, "he wasn't allowed to use anything thicker than his thumb."

She tried hard to keep her composure as he held the thin piece of wood up in front her eyes and let her compare it to his thumb for herself. 

"In all honesty," he continued, "that story may not be correct, but just in case, I can follow rules. Maybe soon you will learn how to follow rules as well."

She whimpered as she stayed bent across the desk. Her eyes wide with fear, her heart racing in anticipation of the punishment to come. She debated whether she should say anything, but the words bubbled up to the surface so quickly she couldn't stop them


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's punishment comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was interesting to write. If you guys want to, you can follow me on tumblr my username is pretty-little-mockingbird.   
> Hope you all have liked this, I think I'm going to continue it and you know add more plot. Thank you all for reading!

He threw the cane across the room took me by my waist spun me around and pressed me against the wall of his office. I stared up at him, lips parted. I was panting a quite a bit now, tears streaming down my face seeing the look in his eyes. Petyr looked like he wanted to devour me. Angrily devour me, but nonetheless devour me, and I wanted him to. He gripped my chin, his thumb pressing a little harder than normal.

Petyr was no longer looking at my lips but intensely into my eyes, gauging my reaction asry "Good girl," he cooed, rubbing soothing circles on my behind. Petyr got distracted for a couple moments, taking my cheeks in his hands and squeezing them, pulling them apart, massaging them softly.

"This is a good color on you," he told me while he continued to rub my now bright rosy multi-colored ass. I rolled my eyes but kept my mouth shut, not wanting to incur anymore of his wrath. "I can practically hear you roll your eyes," his lips were next to my ear again. WHACK! I yelped with the strike of his hand.

Petyr ran his hand down the crack of my ass, his fingers trailing over the fabric of my thong, adding a little extra pressure when he passed my back entrance. I tried to conceal a shiver of pleasure, but I wasn't quick enough. I could hear a satisfied groan from behind me. His fingers ended up resting on top of my cloth covered, swollen lips. I let out a whimper as he pressed them against me, his middle on the seam of my lips and pressing against my clit. He kept adding pressure and I curled my right hand into a fist, unable to do anything, because I was facing the wall. When his other hand landed on my ass, I cried out and slapped my previously fisted hand flat against the wall, gasping. I had also unconsciously tightened my thighs around his hand, trying to keep it trapped against me.

I heard his rough chuckle behind me right before he spanked me a few more times in quick succession, then asked, "Have you had enough? Do you want to turn around?"

I had no idea what I was feeling. My ass cheeks were glowing with warmth and my cunt was begging for him to continue to touch me, but my brain was telling me I didn't want to be spanked anymore, no matter how much my body was enjoying it. Not knowing what to say and my thighs quivering, I just made a noncommittal noise, and hoped he would just tell me what to do. The pressure from his hands on my hips told me that he wanted me to turn around. Not one to argue with him right then, I turned around to face him, my dress falling back down.

I looked up at him through my lashes, biting my already swollen lips. I had been biting them the whole time he was spanking me, trying to keep my noises to myself. It didn't really work, obviously. Petyr's eyes were glittering and he was looking at me sternly, maintaining his frustration with me, but I could definitely tell that his lust had diminished his anger a little bit.

He pulled my bottom lip from my teeth and leaned forward, licking across it. The stroke of his tongue was nice, soothing. So it was a shock when his teeth sank into the tender flesh. It wasn't enough to break skin or bruise, but it left behind a punishing pain that I wasn't expecting. I was staring at him with wide eyes, and he stared back, eyes smoldering. Seconds later, his lips were pressed tightly to mine and I was pushed back, spine flattened against the wall. It didn't take Petyr long to whip my dress over my head, leaving me in my white bustier and thong, then his tongue was thrusting domineeringly in my mouth.

I was almost a moaning mess, lifting my hands to bury my fingers in his hair, but Petyr roughly shoved them away from himself. He slammed my wrist against the wall on either sides of my head and holding them there. In this position, my nipples were about to peek over the edge of my bustier and it didn't help that I was breathing heavily. Petyr was mesmerized by them, staring intently.

"Keep them there," he said, referring to my hands. He was feathering his fingers down my wrists, down to my elbows, and up over my shoulders. He hooked his index fingers into the top of my bustier and looked me right into the eyes mischievously, smirking. It didn't take much of a tug, only centimeters and my nipples were exposed to the cool air of the back room.

He was kissing me again and his fingers circling around my nipples, then tugging at them. They weren't nice tugs either, they were rough pinches and hard pulls. Any other time I would be yelling at him that they weren't something that he could manhandle, but the roughness was oddly something that I was enjoying. We had crossed some line where the small pains he was inflicting were pleasurable. I arched my back against him hoping that he would do more. Petyr's mouth trailed down to my left breast, pulling my nipple in his mouth and letting his hands drift down to my hips. He shoved one hand into my underwear, finding my soaked pussy ready for him, and grabbed my ass with the other. The same time he slipped a finger inside me, he bit my nipple, making my body go rigid against him. I was already on the edge of climax and could feel the muscles in my pelvis begin to tighten. He bit down on my nipple again, making me cry out his name.

The hand that had gripped my ass, came down hard on the side of my ass cheek making me shriek and almost cum. Apparently Petyr had different plans and removed his touch from me completely. I lowered my hands from the wall, letting them hang at my sides and staring at him wantonly. Why had he stopped?

I opened my mouth to ask him, but he cut me off yet again. "Go over to the desk again and bend over. Don't make a sound."

"Yes, sir," I said rather sarcastically. 

Petyr instantly scowled, but I could see a hint of humor in his face. He may have wanted to be angry, but he was enjoying himself. With a sassy walk, I made my way back to the desk and bent over, then cheekily stuck my ass out toward him. I heard him messing with his clothes, then walk up behind me, and was fully expecting the smack to my ass that I received. I wasn't expecting it to be quite so hard though. I was going to have a bruise in the shape of his hand, as well as the others in the shape of the cane. This time though he didn't soothe it away. He just slid my thong to the side and ran the head of his cock between the lips of my cunt.

I pushed backward when he lined himself up with my entrance and slammed himself into my wet core. As soon as he was inside me, I clamped down on him, crying out with pleasure. He slapped my ass right after I made the noise, reminding me that I was supposed to be quiet. He withdrew slowly, wrapped my long red hair around his hand and wrist and yanked my head violently back as he thrust roughly to the hilt. I gasped for air, since all of it had seemed to vacate my body all at once.

He began thrusting against me rhythmically, his thighs slapping against my ass, while he intermittently spanked me for the noises I was making. This wasn't romantic and it wasn't just sex or making love. He was fucking the hell out of me, claiming me for those couple moments that we were sharing together. He was using his cock as a sweet pleasurable punishment, bludgeoning my cunt into submission. I have to admit that I was completely okay with it. At one point he stopped moving, his hips resting tightly against my ass as he leaned forward to speak in my ear, which only made him go deeper.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked, his minty breath puffing against my ear. I nodded my head, pulling my own hair because it was still fisted in his hand, making my eyes water a little.

"Good," he muttered, then continued to fuck me into oblivion. He was grunting and groaning behind me in the hottest way and I could tell that he was very close to coming. I tightened my walls around him, wanting to force him over the edge. Petyr smacked my ass and I tightened even more around him. "Fuck, Sansa."

He slapped my ass again before I felt him spurting, and filling me with his cum. I couldn't hold it together anymore and came around him. Right in the middle of my orgasm, Petyr's hand landed one last time on my ass, only intensifying my climax.

After my body relaxed, I felt my legs give out and Petyr had to catch me before I hit the floor. He helped me into his large office chair and stood back to straighten his clothing. He hadn't taken anything off. His pants had just ended up around his ankles. 

"I have to go make some calls," he said a little breathlessly. "Take a couple minutes, then I expect you out there." He came and kissed me atop my head.

I nodded and his lips left me and tried to settle my breathing as he left to go up front. It took me about five minutes before I could stand up and readjust my undergarments. I had to force my breasts back into my bustier, which was very uncomfortable. I yanked my dress over my head and tried to fix my hair. I'm sure I looked atrocious. 

After about ten minutes I finally left the back room to find Petyr setting up the portfolio for the day. When he saw me, he smirked a little, then walked away and came around to the other side of my desk. He was fishing in his pocket for something. He pulled out his keys. I looked at him questioningly as I moved to stand behind my desk.

"I'm leaving. I'm going to take the rest of the day off. I'll see you after work sweetling."

I raised my eyebrows, a little surprised. He leaned across the desk and looked me right in the eye. "Don't be late again," he said threateningly and kisses me lovingly on the lips. If my punishment was going to be like it was this morning, I would be late everyday, but I didn't want to push my luck with him. I knew that with his business, Petyr didn't play around.


End file.
